The following was written in the mid-1980s. Notes about his rewriting of the original version are at the very end of this file.

ONE SUNDAY IN DECEMBER
Ens. Adolph H. Mortensen

My Dec. 7th story really begins at midnight Dec. 6, 1941, when I reported to the quarter-deck at 2345 to relieve the watch. I had been assigned the midwatch as JOD and as was the custom we relieved 15 minutes before the watch was to start. I in turn could look forward to being relieved at 0345, Dec. 7, 1941.

I found myself in company with Lt. J.G. Bill Ingram who was OOD (Officer of the deck). Lt. Ingram was the nephew of Capt. (Navy Bill) Ingram then football coach at the Naval Academy, Annapolis. I always enjoyed Lt. Ingram's company. He seemed to me a very professional officer. He was fair, business like, and had a good sense of humor. I knew of no one who didn't look up to Bill Ingram. He had also been a football star as midshipman.

The watch was uneventful. A very few sailors had missed the last liberty boat and had straggled in by hitching a ride any way they could, logged in, condition noted, intoxicated, disheveled uniforms, black eyes, split lips, etc. and told to turn in - that they would be dealt with later. They lucked out - or did they?

The watch could be described as being very quiet - close to perfect. It was not cold - no clouds or wind - just clear black starry sky. There were only the noises of occasional small boats traveling the harbor. In the distance there were the anchor lights of ships and the lights of various areas of the base and navy shipyard shone - so quiet and peaceful and yet to be disturbed so violently in just a few hours.

At 0345 Dec. 7th I was relieved by Ens. Joe Spitler and handed him the spyglass which was the symbol of office for JODs. The symbol of authority for ODs was a 45-caliber pistol. Off I went to my room located on the second deck port side forward in junior officer's country. I undressed, put on pajama bottoms and climbed into the top berth. My roommate, Ens. Bill Morey, the junior aviator on board, was fast asleep in the lower bunk. Even in December in Pearl Harbor, being on a battleship is usually hot and although the porthole in our room is wide open, very little air circulated, and I never wore more than PJ bottoms. In a moment I was fast asleep.

My intention for Sunday, Dec. 7 was to sleep a little longer than usual since it was a free day for me. I planned to eat a leisurely breakfast in the JO mess which would be open till 9 a.m., then leave the ship and spend part of the day in town with my friend Ray Hefty, his wife Mabel, and their four-year-old daughter, Carolyn. They day probably would consist of church, lunch, and a swim at Waikiki. Usually Ray, Carolyn, a little neighbor friend, and I would swim - Mabel never went to the beach with us. If it wasn't the beach, then it would be a Sunday afternoon ride and Mabel would join us. After that it was dinner and back to the ship. But Sunday Dec. 7 was to be different - the usual pattern completely broken.

"Air raid! Air raid! This is no drill - real bombs - no shit - get moving!" -
followed by the raucous noises of the klaxon sounding "General Quarters!" - which meant "Battle Stations!" That was the announcement which startled me and brought me completely awake at 0750.

I recognized the voice of Ens. Herb Rommel and instantly knew without question that this was for real and serious. The PA system was always manned either by a boatswain's mate or a quarter master - not an ensign. But this was Dec. 7 not April 1 and Rommel was a person who didn't play jokes.

Ens. Morey had gotten a full night's sleep and was out of his bunk a few seconds before I was and took time to at least put on a pair of pants. He was going topside and aft to his plane. I was going below to the forward boiler control - my battle station. When my feet hit the deck, I put on slippers and grabbed my hat. An officer wearing his hat was officially an officer - the hat being the symbol of authority - even if he wore nothing else. I felt rather foolish but had not much choice. Neither of us looked around our room nor closed the open porthole. We stepped over the threshold and out the door at about the same time - no good-bye - no good luck. We didn't know what was happening. We never saw one another for six months and then just for one fleeting second in Pago Pago harbor, Samoa, when a navy motor launch passed by the stern of the USS Mackinac, on which I was a passenger, just as we were leaving the harbor, we saw each other. I called out "Morey" and he looked up at me and said I" thought you were dead." We were rapidly picking up speed and soon were out of range of conversation. But back to Dec. 7.

As I left the room, I hurriedly crossed from the port to the starboard side over the
ship's gleaming red linoleum deck that had been so highly polished on Dec. 6. The occasion for the polishing was the ship's inspection to be held on Dec. 8 - an inspection that needless to say never took place. I passed by the starboard stateroom doors and into the JO mess. No one was in sight - some breakfasts were partially eaten and some places were still set with dirty dishes on the white linen tablecloths. On my right side was the massively thick barbet of the N u m b e r One turret in its very light pea green paint.

I was four or five feet into the JO mess when the first torpedo hit. It was an explosion that I will never forget. The noise was a very well muffled blast - vou could tell it was deep in the bottom of the ship as the ship was lifted rapidly straight up a considerable distance. I don't think I would be far off in estimating it as 24 to 30 inches. My legs almost buckled, and I reached out my arms to avoid being thrown to the deck. I did not fall but caught myself and then knew for sure that this was 'no drill.' The day of infamy had arrived.

The first torpedo explosion made a huge impression on me and was the only one that I distinctly remember. As I hurried aft, I passed the door of the JO galley (now empty) and through the doorway into very clean warrant officers' country with its slightly darker shade of green, passed the staterooms of the four commissioned warrant officers and passed the four empty army style cots temporarily occupying passage-way space and used by four ensigns who recently reported aboard, then into B Division living space. The next eight (possibly nine) torpedoes that hit the ship came as a slow hitting 'swarm.' I had lost count.

B Division living space (where breakfast had just been completed) was where for
weeks chipping hammers had been working - hour after hour - day after day - chipping the 28 (you could count them) coats of lead based off the bulkheads and overhead down to bare metal, where you could see a complete rivet head, not just a small bump where a rivet was supposed to be. This was all to reduce the fire hazard from the highly flammable and toxic paint. This was to be covered with one coat of yellow zinc chromate and one thin coat of aluminum paint. Only parts of the ship had gotten to the zinc chromate stage. Each division throughout the entire ship was eventually to do this. It was never completed. Even the beautiful red linoleum was to be stripped off. It never was.

Second deck, where the JO mess, warrant officers' country, and B division lived was an armored deck. A plate of steel six inches thick covered those places below that needed protection from bombs. The hatch through the second deck to the third deck and the firerooms was located just inboard of B division living spaces. I rapidly traveled between benches and tables not yet put away after breakfast and down the ladder to the third deck and midship to the forward boiler control. Men assigned to the forward boiler control were already there and most of those assigned to the forward fireroom had already gone through the airlock and were down below. One more person who belonged below was a little late and as he opened the hatch and stepped into the airlock, I watched the spinner handle spin and lock the hatch. I wondered to myself - what is he going to find down there? What are the others doing down there? Can they possibly light off the burners and even if they could, what good would it do? How could this ship possibly get underway? The list was too great.

The ship had already picked up a considerable list. Some say it went to 45° and hung there but that's not true since we were still able to stand and move on the deck and didn't need to seek the stability of the corner where the bulkhead meets the deck. We had a voice tube to the bridge, but no one answered our calls. A 'talker' manned the sound powered telephone, but no one answered his rings. The ship's lights flickered on and off but were mostly on. We didn't need to use the big dry cell lantern. The blower over our heads still functioned, drawing in cool air, but it was not fresh. It was laden with smoke - the white smelly smoke of exploded torpedoes. We quietly waited for more explosions - there were none.

Minutes passed with no communication - no words - no orders- no contact with the outside. We could hear explosions, knew they were not hitting our ship and wondered. I must have looked an odd person - pj bottoms and officer's billed hat but no one laughed or said anything as I told the talker to ring the bridge again. We called through the voice tube and received no answer. I knew we could not do ourselves or anyone else any good being there. There was nothing we could do - nothing - except we were still alive and breathing albeit foul air. The thought ran through my mind - can we abandon ship? Would it be legal for us to try? Or would we be in big trouble if we did try? What to do. We had never been trained in an exercise called 'Abandon Ship.' It had never been mentioned in any instruction that I could recall. Fire drill - yes. Man overboard - yes. Never abandon ship. After the swarm of torpedoes, we just waited, anticipating the next explosion.

What is this! I noticed the dogs to the passageway bulkhead hatch which led to the main boiler control turning and when the hatch opened all the way, out poured the five or six men from main boiler control (which was aft of forward boiler control). They seemed to come though that hatch all at once, although I know they didn't. For the first time that day I saw our division officer, Ens. Joe Hittorf, and our Warrant Machinist, Bill Goggins. Joe looked at me and said 'Abandon ship.' I felt some relief- finally someone over me had said it.

The very heavy deck hatch just to the side of our heads, which had been dogged tightly from our side, was soon released and flew open. It did not have to be pushed as was normally the case. Since the ship had a huge list to port and since the heavy hatch, even with springs and dampers and counters, was hinged to the port, it flew open when the last dog was released. I hate to think what our problem would have been had the list been to the starboard.

It was difficult to climb the ladder to the second deck as it was now hanging almost vertical. But such a problem was very minor at the time. Eight or nine people from B Div had at least reached second deck. On reaching B Div quarters, I found an incredible mess. Tables and benches which were stored overhead when not in use had slid to the low side of the compartment and formed a big jumble. Berths attached to the bulkhead had come loose and were swinging on their chains making walking difficult. The remainder of breakfast food, coffee pots, dirty dishes and food trays, platters of uneaten sliced baloney covered with the usual tomato sauce had spilled and made an incredible slippery mess through which we had to walk. I was still viewing the chaos and attempting to decide on the best course of action when Hittorf said, 'Let's try to go back to chief's quarters. They have 15" portholes back there. The ports in the rest of the ship have 12".

I thought that was a good idea because the three or four ports in B Div each had two or three men lined up to try to squeeze through. Each of these ports had a person half in and half out and I could see in one port a person on the outside pulling to help someone escape. He must have secured himself with some kind of line because the slope of the side was still greater than 45°. If no one assisted in either pulling or pushing it would be very difficult to get your hips through a port. There was no place to get a purchase to push with your feet.

As we started aft, I witnessed Chaplain Lt. J. G. Aloysius Schmitt pushing one person out. Two more were beside him. I understand he tried to squeeze through but was unable to fit so came back inside and spent the last few minutes of his life helping others escape. I don't think more than one more could have gotten out because shortly thereafter the ship rolled and he and the others were trapped in the rising waters. I doubt if that particular area had enough of a triangular prism of air to sustain life for long. I could have very well been the last person to se the chaplain alive. He was awarded the Navy's highest honor for his heroism - the Navy Cross.

We proceeded aft - Joe Hittorf, Bill Goggins, and I, past the ladder which led to the first deck (the main deck). The deck hatch was closed but it did have a round escape hatch in the center. The escape hatch was open, and men were crowding and pushing their way up the ladder in an attempt to get to the main deck. It probably took 30 seconds per person to negotiate the tight squeeze. It was not meant to be a means of mass exodus. This was the only incident of panic I saw.

Five or six feet from the foot of the ladder and forward was one of our B Div sailors sitting in the corner where the bulkhead meets the deck. I can't remember his name, but he was one of our water tenders - a good worker who usually came back from liberty with a split lip, bloody nose, black eye, or disheveled uniform with his friend from another division - they seemed to be inseparable. Here he was, sitting on the deck with his friend's head in his lap - his body stretched out on the deck. I couldn't see anything wrong with him, but he seemed to be unconscious. When our eyes met, I said, 'You better get out of here.' He gave me an anguished look as he answered, 'No. I'm not going to leave my friend. He's hurt.' This scene and act of devotion made an indelible impression on me. What loyalty!

I turned my attention to making my way aft to chief's quarters. Hittorf and Goggins were just ahead of me. We had gone 15 or 20 feet to a point just past the medical department office and the operating room located on the starboard side. I was even with a door that led to what the pharmacists refer to as the pharmacy. From this part of the ship, it was possible to cross over to the starboard side and you could see two or three portholes just aft of the engineering office located on the port side. When I reached this point, the ship began to roll over and as I looked, water flowed in along the deck and the deck began to disappear as the water rose and the deck descended.

Our ship was moored outboard of the USS Maryland and secured to her by the huge hawsers that battleships use for mooring. These had been doubled up sufficiently to hold the Oklahoma at least somewhat upright even with nine torpedoes in her hull. Not wanting to be trapped, the Maryland used axes to cut through these lines, allowing the Oklahoma to roll 152° from vertical. There is no doubt in my mind that had we been given 15 - 20 minutes additional time, our crew could have abandoned ship in a more orderly manner and our casualties would have been far fewer than the 448 that we lost. Could the Maryland rightfully do what it felt it had to do? I believe the answer to be yes! Did it prove to be necessary? My answer is no!

The water was blue and clear and soon one open port reached the surface of the water on the outside of the ship. For a short time, a small waterfall existed as water poured in. It did not take long for the porthole to descend into the water as the ship sank and rolled. The water continued to rise inside, and the ship continued to slowly roll. I soon found myself treading water and watching the ship as it rolled slowly above my head. I looked around quickly and could not see Hittorf or Goggins. I assume that in the time I averted my eyes and watched the ship, they both slipped beneath the surface and drowned. I was told later that neither could swim.

As I treaded water, the ship rolled, and I was carried into the pharmacy. As I entered through the door, the glass faced doors of the medicine cabinets on the bulkhead opened and I was showered with a deluge of medicine bottles both small and large. As I continued to tread water, I watched with anticipation. The starboard bulkhead rolled up, over, and down into the rising water. The deck broke the surface of the water and rolled over my head. I knew I was in an upside-down ship. The deck was made of the old- fashioned small white hexagonal tiles (just like the bathroom at home). As it rolled, it came to a slow stop at an angle over my head. The ship had rolled 28° from being exactly upside down. The masts had buried themselves in the mud of the bottom of the harbor. I had also seen the one porthole in the compartment descend below the water line. But it was secured - how tightly I did not know. The battle port was dogged shut, but I knew that if any of us were to escape it had to be through this porthole.
I put that out of my mind as the prism of air in which I found myself was growing smaller and smaller. As I watched the scupper area descending and the bulkhead and the deck areas getting smaller and smaller. I said to myself I' hope this space is airtight' as I knew that sooner or later the inside and outside pressure would equalize and give us some time - how much I did not know. At the same time that the rolling and sinking was occurring, the light disappeared almost, but not quite, to zero.

As I looked around, I noticed that others were with me. I had been the first to be carried into the compartment. I recognized WO John Austin, the ship's carpenter. He always carried a long five cell flashlight with him. He turned it on for a short time, then turned it off. There was a low blue glow of light coming in through the door now underwater. Evidently there was enough light coming in from the open portholes along the starboard side to allow some light to penetrate the interior of the ship. The whole port side had rolled into the mud, and the starboard side was now outboard, but upside down and 28° from being vertical. Consequently, light was entering the ship though the open ports and a little was entering our compartment through the door under water. I recognized one other person - fireman Gayle Kelley from B Div, a tall very slender sailor. There were two others I did not know.

Finally we had a stabilized ship. The Japanese had done their job. Nine torpedo explosions (possibly ten - see John DiVirgilio's analysis). The water level rose inside but slowed and came to a stop with a prism of air approximately eight feet long - the triangle being approximately 2 1/2 x 3 1/2 × 4 feet. This was about 40 cu. ft. of air for five people. I knew that we didn't have much time, although I knew that the cavity of air we had was compressed so there was something more than 40 cu. ft. of air. I didn't know how much more.

I knew that if we were to get out, it would have to be quick. Our only hope was the porthole that I had watched descend below the surface. I located it with my foot (I'd lost my slippers treading water). I still had my pi bottoms on and my hat. John Austin had his hat on and one sailor had his white hat on also. Kellog and the other person did not.

I ducked my head under the surface and felt around for a dog wrench. None was there and I hoped the porthole was just hand dogged. I felt relief as I tried the dogs, and they easily unscrewed. After the last dog was loosened, the battle port dropped with a muffled thud. Normally the battle port has to be lifted and hooked to hold it open. Since the ship was now upside down, the glass port had to be held open instead - just the reverse of what is supposed to happen. Holding the glass open with my left hand and with my chin just clearing water level, I said 'OK. Who's first.' In one second the sailor with the white hat whom I did not know dove (naturally losing his hat) and swimming past my knees and bumping me three or four times, he finally went though. I could tell he had a hard time, but I said to myself 'If he can fit, I can too.' At least he had made it outside. I then said, 'Who's next?' Kellog dove and had no trouble getting though.

There were now three of us remaining and since I was holding the port and knowing John Austin weighed in excess of 200 pounds and was only 5'8" tall, I pointed to the third sailor. I didn't know him other than he was a lad from Guam, small in stature, a senior wardroom steward. He was treading water with his feet only and praying. The palms of his hands were clasped together under his chin, but his eyes were open. "You're next," I said but he replied "No! No!" Obviously, he was a swimmer. He was within reach of my right hand, so I put my hand on his head and pushed it down to the vicinity of the port. He did not have a choice. I gave him none and through he went. I had to assume that any kid from Guam could swim.

It is difficult to judge the amount of time we had been in the compartment. There was still a glow of light, and our eyes became accustomed to the dimness. It seems reasonable to assume that 10 or 15 minutes had passed from the time we found ourselves in the compartment until three people had escaped to the outside. The water level appeared to have stayed the same, but the air seemed to be getting stale. It had an oppressive feeling.

Now there were two of us - myself at 144 pounds and John Austin, a man my height but rotund, weighing over 200 pounds. I was still holding the port open. It seemed I didn't want to let go - maybe it was fear of not getting it open again. At this point if John had weighed 144 pounds, or even 160 pounds, it would have been his turn, and I would have been alone. I would have given everything I had to get outside, and I still believe I could have done so. But John must have known he had no chance. He did not say a word but moved over the few feet necessary and just reached down and held the port. I looked at his face but cannot describe the look of anguish it contained. It is a look that has never left me. The fact that I had to leave him behind has always troubled me. John was awarded the Navy Cross.

I knew from the increasing difficulty in breathing that I needed to get out. I took the deepest breath I possibly could, but it felt as though my lungs were not filling so I dove and lined myself up with the port - going through first with my left arm outreached - then my head and left shoulder - then my right shoulder with not much problem until my hips reached the port. A push and some wiggles got them through. I was soon completely outside I opened my eyes to see a golden-brown glow above and I knew the surface was up there somewhere. It never occurred to me that the normal color should have been bluish - I had not anticipated oil on the surface, or worse yet, burning oil on the surface. I pushed off with my feet on the porthole and headed for the surface. It seemed like an eternity before I got there. I actually had to swim to reach it. I had been to the bottom of pools that were 10 to 12 feet deep but never had I experienced such a great depth as this. The port must have been 18 to 20 feet from the surface.

But break through the surface I did. When I opened my eyes I could hardly believe what I saw. There were a few planes in the sky but very high. The sky was covered with the lingering bursts of A fire and across the surface of the harbor were many small splashes - remnants of A shells returning to earth and making small geysers wherever the shrapnel hit. Some were close - too close for comfort. Three or four inches of thick, viscous, smelly fuel oil covered the surface. The West Virginia at our stern was engulfed in flames. The harbor surface was ablaze 75 yards away.

The ship was a few feet away, since I had come straight up from the port. Since the ship was at an angle, I reached the surface perhaps eight feet from the side. I swam to a group of perhaps six or seven people hanging on the side. Everyone was covered with a coat of very thick bunker oil. The only parts not black were eyes and teeth. I could not recognize anyone. One person spoke my name and when I looked very carefully, I could recognize Ens. McLellen. I looked to see if any of the other three who had been with me could be there, but I could not identify them.

We were debating about what to do. We couldn't climb the side of the ship to the very bottom - too steep and we were too slippery. Someone suggested we should go astern and swim to Ford Island - a long messy swim. I did not like that idea. A40 foot navy motor launch was approaching but for some reason would not come all the way to the side of the ship but stood off 20+ yards. I swam to the launch and was the first of the group to get there. The launch was manned by three marines. Their uniforms were spotless. One marine reached down as I extended my right arm as high as I could. Grabbing my filthy black oily arm, he tried to pull me up but was unsuccessful. He did succeed in scraping off some of the oil. After doing this twice, my arm was scraped clean enough that he could hold on and I managed to get my right hand on the gunwale. That was all that was necessary and I pulled myself up and swung into the launch.

The launch was spotless, so I thought I had better not sit down on their clean thwarts. I noticed for the first time that I was stark naked. I must have lost my pi bottoms when my hips scraped the porthole. My hat must have been left in the dispensary. Three or four more were pulled into the launch but not all of the group by the ship attempted to swim out. I didn't believe the marines particularly wanted to remain in such an exposed place very long and we soon took off for the Merry Point Liberty landing. I was standing, but after my feet went out from under me, I said to myself. 'The hell with their clean boat.' and sat down directly opposite a very clean marine. We hadn't traveled more than 200 yards when the marine across from me must not have liked what he saw. He didn't say a word - just stood up, took his pants off, then his skivvies, put his pants back on, and tossed me his skivvies. He said, "You need these more than I do."

In 10 to 15 minutes, we were at the liberty landing. Someone said to go to the receiving station and take a shower. I noticed for the first time a bleeding gash on the inside arch of my left foot. It was superficial and didn't hurt, but had a burning sensation as did my eyes which had a good quantity of oil affecting them.

The second deck of the receiving station had a large shower room with a quantity of shower heads protruding from the walls. Some people were already there. The floor was flooded with water and a thick black film of oil was over everything. It would have been much worse if there had not been two five-gallon cans of kerosene just outside where I washed most of the goop off using rag waste before showering. But even with soap and water, it was days and showers later before I became acceptably clean.

After the shower we were directed to a pile of dungarees and shirts - no underwear - and a pile of shoes. None of these were new and I picked a pair of pants and a shirt that somewhat fit and a pair of shoes (no socks)that didn't fit. No hat - no insignia. I went outside to see what was happening. I walked away from the water towards the main road and main gate. I no sooner had stepped clear of the building when a Zero, barely clearing the top of the main gate and the trees that bordered the main road, came zigging and zagging, strafing - his bullets hitting gate, pavement, and cars on the road. I stepped back to the protection of the building in a hurry!

Shortly thereafter, I happened to run into Lt. Bil Ingram and Ens. Adam DeMers. Bill said, "Let's go out to the ship." He was dressed in khakis and wearing two pearl handled revolvers- one on each hip. We had stood the midwatch together just six hours before- so quiet and peaceful. At the liberty boat landing, Bill literally commandeered a 26' motor whaleboat. The cox in charge of the boat said no but we three boarded, and off we went back to our upside-down ship. This was the first opportunity to really get a good look at the destruction that had occurred. The second wave of attack was just starting but none seemed to be around the battleships. They knew the Japanese had already devastated them. As we approached the upside-down hull, I could identify Boatswain Bothne, Commander Kenworthy, the ship's executive officer (dressed in whites), Ensign Davenport (also in whites) with the JO spyglass under his arm, a few yard workers, and a few Oklahoma sailors --perhaps 12 men total -- standing on the bottom of the hull looking, pointing, conversing. Cdr. Kenworthy, Ens. Davenport, and some of the others had just walked around the ship as she rolled - they didn't even get their shoes wet. Ingram called to Cdr. Kenworthy and asked if we could help. The reply was, "No. Get out of here. The yard will take care of things." We motored back to Merry Point liberty landing. I told Bill my foot was hurting, and he said, "Go to the hospital and then report to the sub-base." Everyone who could be found should report and check in with Lt. Cdr. Hobby.

I walked to the hospital located on Hospital Point. Some badly injured were already there. When the nurse saw me, she said, "We have to wash those eyes out!" After doing that, and cleaning and dressing my foot, she advised me to stay off my feet for a while. I was dismissed and walked the long way back to the sub-base.

It was easy enough to locate the Oklahoma group. I logged in by signing my name on a list. It was lunch time (perhaps 1230) and a large tray of sandwiches was brought in. This was the first time I had eaten since 1800, Saturday dinner on board ship. Someone gave me a sheet of paper and a pencil and told me to write a statement of my experiences. I did, but to this day I don't know what I wrote.

In the early afternoon, I walked to the sub-base piers just to see what had happened. My ship, upside down, the Arizona with its two tripod masts tilted at crazy angles broken in two, smoke, fires. I had nothing, some dirty clothes, a pair of ill-fitting shoes, and a turquoise ring on my finger. The stone had been smashed and the ring all bent out of shape. It was the only thing I had when I left the ship.

In my wandering about the sub-base, I found a nickel coin laying on the ground. I tried to use it to call my friend Ray Hefty. I knew he could get a message to my wife. Unfortunately, I dropped the coin in a phone that was out of order. But it gave me the idea to search slots for coins where I found a dime. I made sure I used a working phone and made the call.

It was very fortuitous that I soon ran into Ens. Fred Brooks, a former classmate of
mine who had a room at the sub-base BOQ (base officers' quarters). Seeing I was not dressed properly, he gave me a pair of his khaki pants and shirt. I felt much better. Since his roommate was on a cruising sub, I slept in his bed Sunday night. At 2200 hours we thought there was another attack when planes from the Enterprise tried to land at Ford Island, and every gun in the harbor opened up. We had parted the blackout curtains to be able to see the action. It didn't take long for "friendly fire" to shoot four planes out of the sky.
The rest of the night was relatively quiet. I tried to sleep.

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NOTES Written at the time he rewrote the story. Estimated to be in the mid-1980s
The reason I am rewriting the story of my Pearl Harbor experiences of Sunday, Dec. 7, 1941 are two-fold.

First - I need to rewrite the story I wrote in 1943. Not that it was in error or that it was not factual but that I spent a very short amount of time in writing it and I consider it poorly written. It did not include much color or description, and I even left out events that I witnessed but did not include because they were not part of my personal experience or because too much pain was associated with them. For 25 years I had no desire to remember, talk, or write about it.
But 55 years passage of time and knowing that sometime in the future there will be no one left to relate this story, I feel it necessary to endeavor to do so now.

Second - this is a story about the escape of a group of people, including myself, from a compartment in the medical department on board the upside-down battleship USS Oklahoma which appeared in Walter Lord's "Day of Infamy" published in 1957. I recognized the story as being mine, but I couldn't reconcile the story with the facts as I knew them.

The story was about the USS Oklahoma and a seaman named George Murphy Jr. The story of George Murphy and his experiences fit my story but the number of men was not what I knew to be correct and the compartment we were trapped in was not properly identified. The name of one person, John Austin, told me that I was a part of this story. The length of time the group was trapped, and the sequence of events was wrong. So, I am writing this account to explain the ambiguities and the reason for them and to tell the story completely and accurately. This account is the same now as it would have been if I had written it on Dec. 8, 1941. The events are as vivid to me today as they were then. Lots of things fade with time, but this sequence of events - No - Never. They are imprinted in my mind's eye. The only things I have forgotten are the names of some of the people I will write about - but this is because I probably never really knew their names, although I definitely knew who and what they were. I had been on board for just six months. I did not know the names of all 90 men of 'B' Division, the division I was assigned to as junior division officer. Besides, it was hardly imperative to memorize names as every sailor had his name stenciled on his dungaree shirt.

This story just began to get some perspective and context in 1981 when my wife Betty and I attended our first Pearl Harbor reunion in Honolulu. Just after a reception for all USS Oklahoma personnel at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel at which we briefly told our Dec. 7th story, George Murphy introduced himself to me and told me that I had been the one who held the porthole open so he could leave the compartment in which we found ourselves. He was the first to leave. But I'm getting ahead of the story.